


Just Once

by FrangipaniFlower



Category: Homeland
Genre: Early Days, Exploring their relationship, F/M, Friendship, Smut, Their Love Is So
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:43:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6691915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/pseuds/FrangipaniFlower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set the night after Quinn confessing the two homicides Javadi committed. Somehow what he said resonates with Carrie and she pays him a late night visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laure001](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laure001/gifts), [neverending_story](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverending_story/gifts).



> Thanks to my friends at our LJ community. Discussing with you and digging into some of the older posts, especially koalathebear's shipping chart, as well as a prompt I got from Laure made the nucleus for this fic.
> 
> Set the night after Quinn confessed the two homicides committed by Javadi.

Quinn's unusual demeanor stays with her, even after she's back home. She should be glad, he promised to help her after all. For the first time since the bombing there is a real chance for her to clear Brody's name. To make him come back. If he's still alive. If she can find him. If he still wants to be with her, now as Nazir's network had managed to blow up the CIA. If he doesn't want to return to Jess. Even if he would, and even if Jess would let him, she still would want him, let him back in into her life. Pathetic. But still.

It speaks volumes, Peter Quinn being the only person she can turn too. She had been waiting for him before she really had taken the time to regroup and consider, just driving to the crime site to see him and ask him. She had expected either a ascerbic snarky comment or a thourough dressing-down, but had been sure to be able to talk him round. But he caved easily, granted her a carte blanche without argueing. His qualms irritate her, his talking about sins and confessions. Atonement. She has a lifelong history of not exploring her feelings too thouroughly, at least not all of them, and she certainly wouldn't start now. 

And she'd suggest the very same to him, if he'd asked her. Did he ask her for her opinion today? It was irritating. But he didn't ask for anything. Not as far as she remembers. 

But, he's helping her. Maybe she should at least have pretended to listen and understand. She can't have him turn his back now.

Her mind is still spinning, Javadi, Brody, the bombing, all those dead people, and now for the first time there is a real chance for justice, for Brody, for all those dead people. Estes among them. There was a time some time ago, no, she's not going there now. 

Quinn. Something was bugging him tonight. And if she is holding that thought for a moment, probably a bit longer. Since, since when? Since he returned from...Venezuela? That mission was a success. One of Saul's masterpieces. Rumours were, Quinn was essential part of not only taking out the Tin Man, but of planning the whole global scheme. What the fuck is there to remorse? 

Brody. Where is he right now? She thinks sometimes, just a short flicker, Saul knows more than he tells her. But he wouldn't betray her like this, or would he?

She feels the urge to drink but - already on the way to the fridge - decides to go for a run. She hasn't been running frequently since Brody left and it's time to start a more frequent training again. Drinks maybe later.

Couple of minutes of a restrained pace and her mind is calming down a bit, stops the relentless racing and jumping between random topics and thoughts. But one thought stays, no, two, kind of connected. Brody, clearing his name, and Quinn, needing his help. And what was wrong with him.

Fuck it. She makes a decision, takes a turn to the left at the next junction and adjusts her steps to a quicker pace, it's quite a way. If she remembers right there's a convenience store around the corner of the place. It fits, that he picks his quarters so it requires no driving to get more booze. Being an annoying asshole so often but certainly not putting socker moms in danger because of him driving shitfaced. Always a gentleman. 

She hates it, how her mind now is circling around him. She does it a lot lately. Somehow he became a constant part of her life, she doesn't know when it happened. She had expected him to disappear after the Brody operation and the bombing but he sticks around. Working with Saul, who praises him highly. And working with her. And he is good. Very good. Smart, witty, quick thinker, out of the box, effective, reliable, and being honest to herself, she likes working with him. She trusts him. She likes having him around. Fuck. And he is hot as fuck. And as annoyingly arrogant he was in the beginning, she thinks most of the time he isn't even aware of how attractive he is. At least he's never playing that card with her. Or with any other female co-worker or work-related contact. A lot of the younger desk analysts and secretaries flush and get giggly when he's around but he never seems to pay attention. He's nice with Fara though, but just nice as in nice, nothing else. She sees them often having coffee or lunch together. He never has lunch with her though. At least not if she's not the one just sitting down at his table when he is already there and it would be very rude of him to get up and sit down somewhere else. Why is he having lunch with Fara but not with her? Maybe he'll tell Fara tomorrow what was bothering him today. Why didn't he tell her? Maybe cause you didn't ask, an annoying part of her brain tells her.

She's gonna find out, now. Now is as good as any other day.

When she arrives at the shop she is sweaty, no surprise after a approximately four miles run. She buys some wet wipes and a deodorant and a bottle of whisky. And a small bottle of wodka. That one she has straight away, outside. Then she is wiping the worst of the sweat away, using the deodorant and discarding all items except the whisky in a dumpster in front of the store, now walking slowly towards the shabby motel down the road.

He moved here just after Max and Virgil checked in into his old place and it still bugs her that he probably knows she was the one sending someone to check on him.

When she enters the complex she is surprised to see a reception, where a large but beautiful woman sits. It's a strange mockery of a scene which could happen in a more classy hotel, how friendly she's asking how she can help and explaining her the way to Quinn's unit. Carrie briefly wonders why she ended up here, her behaviour and expression cleary indicating her belonging to a better place.

She is just about to turn her back to the receptionist when she hears her saying "He had a lot of those recently."

-Huh?

-Peter Quinn. Johnny Walker. Look, I'm the appartment manager. And he is hopeless at sorting the garbage right. But we get to pay much higher fees if we put glass in the regular bins. So I get them out and put them in the glass recycling box. That's why I know. But I wouldn't wanna bother you. It's just...he probably has his own supplies."

Interesting.

-Thanks... for letting me know.

She knocks the door, quite sure he's home. His car is parked outside, the appartment manager didn't mention him being out and there's a dim light behind the small window next to the door.

When he opens the door after a quick peak through the said window his face is expressionless, at least he hopes so. But if he couldn't master even this anymore it would really be time to quit this business he thinks with grim amusement. He's having his leather jacket in his hand.

-Carrie...lost direction while on a run?

He indicates at her outfit and shoes.

-Cause I can't remember having said I wanna join you. And I didn't invite you over. Mind saying why you know my adress...again?

-I'm still pissed with Virgil that you noticed.

-I would be dead multiple times by now if I wouldn't notice such things.

-You can die just once. Won't ask a lady in?

-I would. Just...can't see one.

-Uh, someone's in a great mood. 

-Cut the crap and come in. You shouldn't be running around alone, not tonight.

-How do you know I don't have a team tailing me?

-You wouldn't come here if you had. And, Saul told me. I was on phone with him to check your level of protection for tonight, and when he told me he didn't find it necessary I was just about to drive over to do it myself when you arrived.

She's touched by his concern and can't have that, so she needs to brush it off.

-Well, last time you did the surveillance of my place it was not that fucking successful.

She sees from the moment of pain darting over his face she hit her target here, even knowing it was a low blow.

-I know. And I'm sorry.

She can't deal with that. Not tonight.

She puts the bottle on the counter of the shabby pantry, scanning her surroundings. It's a strangely empty, worn out, generic furniture, no personal touch at all, not counting the now three bottles of whisky on the counter though.

He gets two glasses and indicates her to sit down. She takes the couch, leaves the lounge chair for him.

-What do you want? I already told you I'd help you.

-Can't you at least pretent to be nice, or to be enjoying an after work drink with a...with me?

-I could. Just, we don't do after work drinks. We work long hours, go straight home and use alcohol to drown our inner voices long enough to find some sleep.

-Quinn, what is it? And don't give me that look. I've been running four miles to talk to you. Now spit it out.

And the thing is, he wants to spit it out. Not that he believes it's gonna be easier then, he knows it will stick with him all life long. But he wants her to know.

-Caracas. When I took the tin man out, I killed a child. His son. In the dark, through a closed door. He came to check on his father. I saw the light and shot, through the door. 

-Shit, Quinn.

She reaches out and puts an hand on his knee. It's a strange sensation. Maybe she's really caring.

-He was nine years old. Only wrong he probably ever did in life was to cross my path for a second. His name was Carlos.

-It was an accident.

-Still. I killed a child.

-While taking out a real bad guy.

-Which doesn't justify taking an innocent life.

-You did your job.

-Exactly. My job is to kill people, Carrie, I kill people.

-A little late for regretting your professional choices. But you could change to another part of the agency, working with Saul doesn't require-

-Carrie, don't you get it? We are deluding ourselves here. Whether it's me killing a target - a human being, it's always a person, those euphemisms are just another tool to delude ourselves - or a drone strike or recruiting Javadi - we kill. We are bringers of death and destruction. And for what, Carrie? Even Javadi is not gonna fuck with us - and I bet he will - does that justify that we cornered him enough to make him go and kill those two women, just as a big fuck you for Saul? Like two boys in the school ground, just this time, it's human lives? Those two women are dead, Carrie. Because we tickled Javadi a bit too much.

-Quinn, fuck, I was there. I was there with you. But someone has to do this. People like us who have both the knowledge and the opportunity.

-I used to believe that, Carrie. But...I just don't believe it any more.

-But...?

-But I'll still help you do find the bomber. Yes, I'll do that, no worries.


	2. Chapter 2

He takes a sip of his drink, puts the tumbler back on the coffee table and when she moves forward, he thinks he knows exactly what's gonna happen, it's Carrie after all, and he thinks he can handle her with a friendly turn down but still she manages to surprise him by directly going for his trouser's fastening.

She is kneeling in front of him and much quicker than he anticipated. So her head is already tilted over his cock, lips making contact, when he manages to pull her back and both of them into a standing position. His grip on her upper arm is hard like iron, his left hand is rearranging his nether regions.

She can see he's angry.

-Carrie, what the fuck?

-It's not like you are against casual sex.

-Well, you clearly made a point here in not being against it at all. But no, Carrie, not...wait, how do you know?

-That brunette last week you met in the park during your run? I don't know how she did it but you were hooked on rather quickly. And if I were her friend I'd give her the friendly advise not to climb into complete strangers' cars. Even if she couldn't expect to hook up a trained special forces who could kill her in the twinkling of an eye.

-I didn't see you. And I didn't meet her for the first time. But I'm flattered by you believing me to be this irresisable that woman follow me willingless after three sentences in a park.

He knows she is trying to provoke him and he'd do better not to let her.

-Well, I'm better than Max and Virgil, obviously. Or, you were to preoccupied with the joys ahead of you...

-So, great elucidation. I'm a human being and fuck. So are you. Casual hook up versus traitor, terrorist and imposter - oh, and married, that is - on the run, who scores here? Really hoping for him to come back and have you your brains fried again?

-Feeling great, having morally the oh so upper hand? Who was the one earning his living by killing... 

She hesitates, but just for a single fraction of a second. She sees he knows where she is heading, but she can't stop it. Having that power and being so sad and angry makes it impossible to stop.

-...a child?

She spat the last two words out and even knowing it is a spectacular bad idea, he snaps. His mouth comes down hard on hers, his hands are around her neck and he uses his whole body to urge her backwards, against the wall next to the couch. It's either this or beating some sense into her.

While her hands are already around his hips, palming his buttocks, she turns her head away.

He snorts a short laugh.

-Two minutes ago and you were about to suck my cock but now you won't kiss me.

-Exactly.

She starts to rock her hips not so subtly against his pelvis and his erection is borderline painful, throbbing hot and hard against his pants. Even without her triumphant smile he knows she knows there is no way of stopping now. At least not for him.

-I won't fuck you without a kiss, Carrie.

She groans and starts to palm his bulge, turns her head back and looks him straight in the eyes. Without breaking eyecontact, she slids her other hand into the back of his shirt, up his spine, to his shoulder. 

Then she leans in, her mouth for a second hot on his, eyes still open, pressing his cock once more through the fabric of his pants, then unfastening his zipper again. He has a moment of absolute and shocking lucidity, that he never should have allowed this to happen, that he never should have opened up. Then, causing an annoying crescendo of lust and yearning, she bites his lower lip and digs her fingernails into his shoulderblade, while her other hand goes around his cock, soft and small, a strangely arousing contrast to the welcome pain she's causing.

He tastes his own blood and so does she probably too.

-That was your kiss.

-That didn't count. I'll decide when I'm gonna kiss you.

He pulls her hand away from his hardon, pinning it with a firm grib to the wall, above her head, trying to regain control. She retreats her other hand from under his shirt and places it next to it, looking at him provokingly. Effortlessly, he widens his grip around that wrist as well.

-You like it hard and rough, that's what you trying to tell me? I've got news for you: I already knew.

-So, you know, and it never bothered you to tell me?

-And least I got paid for dropping an eye and ear on your sex life.

-But still not daring to go in my panties yourself.

And that's enough to make him give her what she wants. He hates her and himself for her ability to play him like this. His mouth comes down to her neck, licking, sucking, biting her skin, his free hand greedily fondling her breasts through the thin fabric of her running top, his throbbing cock grinding against her belly. 

She arches her back to get closer, feeling the welcome force of his large hand around her wrists, the backs of her hands scratching against the rough plastering.

He doesn't bother to use a condom. He's clean. And if she isn't he doesn't care. But for what it's worth, she was when he hacked her files while she was admitted to the psych ward. Technically, it wasn't hacking. HR had forgotten to cancel his access from the short time span when he was her boss. Sometimes spies are just the biggest morons at all.

And he wants to feel her, all of her, hot and tight around him, without an ever so thin barrier of latex between them. He briefly feels concerned about not asking her if that's okay with her, but then decides she's an adult responsible for her own choices as well. Plus, he knows she's on the pill. He saw the half used strip when he searched her appartment.

And that's enough of concious thinking he decides, pulling her running pants down with one firm stroke, revealing the perfect roundness of her butt.

She squeals with delight, enjoying his dominance and superiority. He lets - unfortunately - go of her hands, she liked being restrained, to pull his shirt over his head, not bothering with the buttons. One button chips away with a scattering sound, the urgency turning her on even more. Seeing Peter Quinn coming apart, wanting her, yearning for her. It's not that she has a particular no kiss-policy, actually she would love to explore his skill set in that field, it just felt...like the right thing to do, keeping a little distance. He is stepping back a few centimeters, getting rid of his pants, she can't resist to ogle, his body is...unbelievable.

He's back, grabbing her hips with a firm grip, backing her up against the wall and releasing her ankles from her pants when they come up around his waist.

-I'm not raping you, Carrie, am I? Cause...I'd really like to... - his pause is a fraction of a second too long - ...go on.

It's not that he's really giving her time to answer, he's entering her with one firm stroke, abruptly stopping then, deep inside her, holding her speared body against the wall just with his frame, using his hands to caress her cheek and neck, searching her eyes for approval.

-Jesus, Quinn, fuck me.

He bangs her against the wall like she's never been fucked before. His thrusts are forceful, strong, an intense staccato and she feels his hands digging deep into the soft flesh of her buttocks, her small back grinding over the rough plastering with each stroke. Her head comes down on his shoulder, she grips her legs around him, hears herself screaming and allows herself to surrender to him. He doesn't even care if she's close to climax, but when his thrusts become less regular but much faster, she knows he is nearly there. She bows her head back, this is definitely worth watching.

But, he is a quick and silent killer, even in this. Faster than she could anticipate, one of his large hands comes down, dives into her fold, pushing away the hood over her clit and adding pulsating pressure, rough, hard, demanding, on the swollen nub.

-You don't bullshit with me, Carrie, don't even try that. I may be yours, but you don't play me.

She is paralysed, lust running like molten lava through her body, feeling the intense orgasm building up at the base of her spine. His groans are deep, vibrating, she sees his jaw trembling, but then he presses his thumb down again and she starts to scream down the house, tilts her head painful back against the wall, feels herself tightening around his shaft and hears an animalistic grunt, followed by a few more thumping thrusts, and then he climaxes with her, still raging into her, when he explodes.

They both pant heavy, his arms braced against the wall, next to her shoulders, to protect her from his weight. She feels him sliding out of her, now as he gets soft, his semen trickling out of her and in a small trail down her thigh. She feels the heat radiating from his body and the pressure of his hip against her belly. His stubble tickles around her ear. It has been a great fuck, she had always expected him to be incredibly talented but now she knows.

This is always the moment where it's getting awkward and certainly this occasion here won't be the exception that proves the rule. She tries to duck away under his arm but quicker and firmer than she ever had been able to anticipate he grabs her arm and helds her back.

-What the fuck are you doing? I didn't check in for the 'let's stay friends and feel awkward about it but maybe we could have breakfast together' part.

-No, you didn't. I get it, you don't have friends. That fits. Me neither. 

-And?

-Breakfast's out anyway. Food and sleep is for the weak.

-But?

-Now I'm gonna kiss you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 and 4 will come until Sunday.


	3. Chapter 3

She hesitates, but before she can hide, his mouth is at hers. He pulls his hips back so there is no contact except the kiss, which is in a way hilarious, she thinks, given the fact that she is backed up against the wall in his random, shabby appartement, nearly naked, after they just fucked. 

If she didn't know better she'd say, it's a tender kiss, he is taking his sweet time, exploring her lips, touching them gently with his lips and probing with his tongue, and before she knows it she parts her lips and lets him in, his tongue softly questioning and exploring. He is an excellent kisser, just enough pressure, not too soft, but not too much force or tongue. It's just when she starts to respond, slowly slipping her tongue into his mouth, that he raises one hand to cup her cheek while the other comes to the back of her nape. The kiss doesn't stop, he possesses her mouth, and she knows it, it goes on and on, and finally, she lets go the pretense, allows herself to give in, and raises one arm and goes around his neck into his hair and steps forward to close the space between them.

He feels a sudden, strange urge to cradle her and hold her in his arms through the night which shocks him and he knows better as to give in. But whatever fueled his anger and made him stupid enough to to loose it and bang some sense into her - and he's not expecting much success in that anyway - it's gone.

And now, he wants more.

More of her, more time with her, time to explore and seduce her. Wants to give himself to her. That's new and it's...unwelcome.

But he's fucked anyway. The moment he saw her through the window outside his door, still raging angry with Saul for again not protecting her, with himself for driving home instead of tailing her immediatly and making up for his epic fail the other night, he knew he was condemned for a lifetime. The relief he felt to see she was ok, the hope she came to see if he was ok, the satisfaction that she had snooped out his adress again, the dark amusement when learning she had tailed him and seen his current object of sexual attention, all that gives him a pretty good report about his current state of mind. He's fucked, and maybe he should just admit it and try to get and give as much as he can in that one and only night he'll probably ever have with her.

He doubts Brody will ever come back, he even doubts he's still alive, he was in horrible shape when he saw him in Caracas. But nevertheless he'll use all pressure he can muster to make Saul getting the man back, as soon as it is safe to do so. Relatively, that is. Him being alive would be helpful then. When, no, if they have the bomber. And somehow can make sure Brody is not going to be a constant, heroin-addicted flight-risk.

He has even considered to secretly take her to Caracas, even would have done so, if he'd thought it had done any good to anybody and not only exposed her to uncalculated dangers. That, and kind of lacking the skills to find his way around Saul in this.

And he has no doubt, it's gonna be Brody then, if he ever will be in the shape again to do so, playing with the very same breasts he is fondling right now while he is still kissing that sweet mouth. 

Only - the thought is with him since the day he observed their love-making in the cabin through his field glasses - the man has no idea how to do justice to a woman like Carrie, has been quite self-centered and...unidimensional...

She obviously had her share of a few moments in paradise, that was painful to watch and gave him an awful lot to do while taking care of himself later that night, pathetic as it was, but...she deserves better. Better than this. And better than the slam-bang against the wall that they just performed.

Whereby, couple minutes ago, slam-bang against the wall was exactly what she deserved...and he needed...either that...or worse...but he had wanted to bang her against the wall from the very moment he first set eyes on her, knowing it would be a trial of power between equals. And she hadn't disappointed him. And as far as he could say, she had had no reason to complain either.

But now, he doesn't want quick, violent satisfaction, including scraped skin and bite marks. 

Time to flash his cards.

Worst thing to happen is her laughing and storming out, he still can call Dar then and sit in a plane to some warzone shithole tomorrow morning and would have never to see her again.

Her response to his thumbs grating her nipples is promising, that moan against his mouth when he adds a bit friction sends his cock fully back to being at the ready and of course she notices. And again it's her surprising him, this time by running a hand down his back, along his spine, using one hand and a squeeze into his buttock to pull him closer and the other hand to run down his ass crack, a little deeper than good girls do.

Fuck it, decision made.

His hands go around her buns again and he lifts her up, legs around his hips, and lets go of her mouth, seperating just enough to make eye contact. She shows a small smile.

-Again? Quinn?

-Not that. Let's do this right, this time, just once.

Silently, he's thanking the god he doesn't believe in anymore for giving him the epiphany to finally buy a duvet and decent sheets just a few days ago, an army sleeping back is not exactly seduction material.

He takes her the few steps to his sleeping room and carefully lowers her to the bed, looming over her when she lies on her back.

He'll never forget that look, completely open and vulnerable, trusting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always found it a strange coincident: Quinn taking out the Tin Man in Caracas, having as far as we know from 2.04 both experience and a network there, and Brody being in Caracas the same time...So my head-canon here: He knew where Brody was, maybe even helped Saul, and he saw him during the Tin Man mission.


	4. Chapter 4

First things first, she is still wearing her running shirt and that needs to go off now. When he pulls it over her head he has to laugh.

-Interesting choice for a run, Carrie. Always go for lacey, more than delicate bras for sports?

She hates it that he caught her unprepared and he probably won't let that lapse go easily.

-Or didn't you have time to do the laundry this week?

Using his index finger he traces the hem of the cups over her breast while teasing her and she doesn't know what to say. 

-Don't flatter yourself, I just forgot to change.

-No, you didn't. Admit it.

She won't admit it. And he knows it. But Quinn being Quinn he releases her.

-I always had a weak spot for women prepared on all accounts...and for what it's worth...I like it...

He does like it. It's powderblue, the cups are made out of lace. Nice, that she didn't go for the cliché black lace. He has wondered often what kind of lingerie she would wear. Not that he is proud for oggling but he has seen enough when she bent forward in the ops room or office to check on files to know her usual style: plain white bras, no lace at all. Knowing now that she changed into this before she came here tonight...what a shame he missed the probably matching panty earlier when her pants went off. But this litle thingie will have to go now too.

He takes her in for a moment longer, how she's stretched out on his bed, nearly naked, her blonde mane flowing over his pillow, her eyes wide open, her delicate white skin, the tiny mole next to her bellybutton, he'll make sure to kiss that, the perfect roundness of her breasts, she is hallowing his shabby quarters. He hopes her scent will linger in the sheets and pillows.

He's pretty sure he's readable like an open book to her right now as he is staring down on her, but in a way it's just fair, she gave away more than she intended with her choice of underwear too.

He bends down and kisses her again, this time he wants her to want him, it'll take time, and he'll make the best out of the few hours he has with her. Brody should better aim high, if he's ever back, she won't forget this night.

The bra soon goes off, her breasts now exposed to his hands and mouth. He kisses her jawline, her neck, her clavicle and she is surprised by the tenderness and patience he offers. She always expected him to be a great fuck, but this here, now, is a surprise. The way he is using those large, deadly hands to caress her and please her, how he fathoms her body, her most intimate parts, not seeking his own pleasure but hers. 

The knowledge of what those hands are trained for, what he is capable of, the acts he committed, all that is utterly arousing. It was part of Brody's attraction to her as well, just, with Brody, she never knew if he wouldn't go for her throat any second, it was the danger and the way how he was damaged like herself what was the ultimate turn on. With Quinn, it's quite the opposite: The knowledge what he could do and did with others but never would with her.

Is that...trust? 

She never had that, but in a way, it feels like how she always expected it to be with someone you are long enough with, so he knows exactly how and what you like, but short enough for still being new and utterly exciting.

And when she thinks, it was Estes who sent her Quinn, she has to giggle kind of hysterically.

He comes up face to face and closes her mouth with his, murmuring 'what's so funny up here?'.

But this, she can't answer? Or can she?

-I just thought, I should lay down some flowers at the wall to thank Estes for bringing you into the picture.

He laughs against her mouth and let's his hand trail down from her neck to her breast, grazing her nipple like he did before through the fabric of her shirt. Now, completely exposed, it makes her squeak.

-I'll pay for them, god have mercy with his pity soul. But now...I'll teach you not to muse about other men while I'm making love to you.

Ouch, he didn't go for that one. But now it's out and said.

He hopes she didn't pay attention, that his thumbs' activities distract her enough and for good measure he glides down again and starts to kiss and suck her nipple while still caressing the other breast. 

She has noticed, of course she has, but it doesn't matter, not if he keeps doing what he's doing. She surrenders to his touch and for once, it doesn't matter not to be in control anymore. So when his mouth travels down further south, tongue circling around her navel, his stubble tickling next to her mole, his hands start to caress her buns, she doesn't resist flying into a frenzy in expectation of what's next.

He wasn't sure if it's the right thing to do, especially when she seemed so pre-occupied with other thoughts. Estes, out of all people, Estes. Considering Estes' fate while he's fucking, that's something. Well, technically, he's not yet fucking her, but he intends to, but not yet. 

He takes a deep breath and leaves a trail of kisses, travelling her abdomen downward, hesitating a brief second over her mons. It's somehow much more difficult when feelings are involved, he thinks, kind of surprised.

But praise Carrie's natural impatience, suddenly her hands are in his hair, shy of painful, directing him not so subtly at all the way further south.

-You are a little greedy pleasure seeker.

-I'll pay you back.

With that his mouth makes contact, his tongue comes out, softly exploring first, his hands stabilizing her hips, before his lips lock and he sucks and licks and circles her tiny bud. She's a screaming mess in no time, which is so utterly arousing that it takes him every ounce of self-control he can muster not to embarass himself and shoot into the sheets like a prematured teenager. But those sounds she's making...are obscene...and this time, it's him doing this to her. 

Initially, he had intended this to be foreplay, but now he changes his mind, he's pretty sure, there will be more, Carrie always stands to her promises, and seeing her coming has been one of his favourite fantasies. 

When his tongue enters her pussy and his upper lip still stimulates her clit, it's taking her over the edge right into a state of frenzy. He tries to memorize every detail, in case it never happens again, the memory to stay with him forever. The way her small hand clenches the sheet, her body shivers and writhes, her head tilts back and she moans his name, none of these memories will ever leave him again. Her orgasm is intense and he tries to extend is as long as possible, with softer, slower movements now, withdrawing his tongue but flitting it over her clit a few more times, feeling the waves crashing through her body. When he finally let's go of her she's trembling and so fucking beautiful he could eat her up.

He crawls up and engulfs her into a tight embrace, waiting the last shiver out. This would usually be the moment to get up, get dressed and leave, he's not good in sticking around afterwards, but...it's his place, which only occurred very rarely before, and - he doesn't want to leave. What ever is next, even nothing's next, he doesn't want her to leave or this to end.

Her body is soft and pliant, boneless in his arms, and just when he figures she might drift into sleep, while he lazily caresses her back, she stirrs and makes eyecontact, her eye huge, pupils dilated. She smiles, and it's the truest version of her he has ever seen, before she kisses him, first on the corner of his mouth, then slightly below, on his chin, following his jawline, down his neck. 

She softly pushes against his chest and he falls obediently on his back.

-Let me make amends.

-It was my pleasure...

He has no idea what to offer next, somehow he's beyond sassy ready wit. But Carrie has a plan anyway, migrates her attention pretty quickly southbound and then he has no capacities left for verbosity anyway.

Whatever Carrie does and is, and most of the times that's the same, she is in it whole-heartedly, not hesitating, not looking back, just going through, that's part of the package, and that's part of her facination. 

She was back to where she had started, back in the living room, just this time he wasn't resisting. Her lips made contact with his hardon, softly closing around the tip, tongue circling just one round before she took him in, inch by inch. It starts as a feathery touch, but knowing that it's her doing it, almost makes him come immediatly. She helds completely still for a while, his cock deep in her mouth, her hands on his hips, her face covered behind the curtain of her hair. She starts to suck and lick and it is more than he thinks he can take. Now it is certainly his turn to writhe and moan. She takes him in deep, builds up a rhythm and pace and he finds himself in a stage of profound yearning, wants to possess her, not only her body, but her mind and spirit too. Her mouth is soft and wet, engulfing is cock and he knows she probably enjoys him loosing control. He doesn't want this to end, as much as he doesn't want this night to end, but he is desperatly close to shoot into her mouth.

She interrupts for a moment, comes up, placing an open-mouthed kiss on his mouth.

-Just give up. You don't have to choose. Whatever you have in mind, we can do it a little later, once more.

Once more. Bittersweet.

His hand locks at her nape, using a gentle force to guide her back down. When she swallows and sucks him, she adds grating teeth and his orgasm grabs him without premonition, rolling up from the bade of his spine, shaking his whole body. He explodes into her mouth and his world turns grey, colours, sound, conciousness gone. She doesn't pull back but sucks and licks until the last waves have ebbed out.

Using his hand around her nape he musters just enough focus to pull her up again, placing her on his chest and holding her tight.


	5. Chapter 5

They stay silent for a long time, enjoying the aftermath of their love-making. He knows if he talks, the magic will be broken, she'll get up and leave then. So he just lays still, enjoys the afterglow of what they just had and hopes she feels the same, some inner peace and contentment, just for some hours, before they go on the desperate mission to find - well, he knows where to look - Brody and the CIA bomber. 

He was determinded to leave it all behind him but he knows he is doomed anyway and of course he'll stay now and help her. Even if it's just to safe her from another visit to the psych ward, this time not as set up but for a real full-blow manic episode. Not for the first time he wonders whom he did any good by not taking Brody out when he had the chance too. 

She stirrs a bit and lets a soft sigh and a small hand comes up and cups his cheek in an oddly sweet and shy gesture, compared to what she did a couple of minutes ago. He keeps holding her tight, not paying attention to his arm getting numb, until she finally - he has no idea if it's been minutes or hours - raises her head and looks him fortright into the eyes. She says nothing, just stares at him as if she were searching something, he has no idea what it could be, but finally she seems having found it, cause she smiles, a tiny, sweet smile, all her typical edginess gone and lowers her head to kiss him.

They don't speak, just commence to softly caress and explore, all urgency is gone and he knows it's her way of good-bye, this is the most of herself she can give, just once. 

Their love-making, and now he doesn't feel ashamed to name it as such, is a slow and tender bout, her eyes looked to his and in its intimacy it is in its own special way much more fulfilling than the rounds they had before. He's on top, allowing him to set intensity and pace, and he goes for slow, almost indolent. It's a wordless and deep connection and he holds back as long as possible until she is there too and they go over the edge together, while he kisses her mouth, neck and eyelids. This time she comes silently, he feels her body quivering, just her breathing fastens.

Afterwards, she is lying next to him, still looking at him, one of her fingers tracing his mouth. He holds her in a loose embrace, utterly spent and very tired. She's crying. Silently. And he knows there's not much he can do about it.

She cries, for the other lifes she could life. For the tenderness and love she could find, if she was someone else and would love another man. For the peace she could maybe find in that other life. If she was that other person. And she cries for the pain she brings to other people, knowing that being with her always brings suffering. This is the burden she has to carry.

He knows he'll probably pay hell for making her so vulnerable. But being allowed to make love to her, just once, not just to anonymously fuck her like the next best available stranger in a random bar, somehow makes his own pain bearable for this night. And maybe the afterwards as well. If she allows him to just be there for her.

-Wanna stay here tonight?

Fuck, how often did he get up after exactly that question had been asked?

Now she gets up and starts collecting her clothes and he wants to kick himself for asking. He just should have waited, just should have hold her without commenting, waiting for her to drift off. Or at least, because she would probably never fall asleep here, giving her, giving himself a couple of more minutes of...this.

-Hey, I can take the couch if you want me to.

He hears how desperate he tries to sound light. She turns and looks at him, with that tiny sad smile. He wishes, he could just close the gap, hug her and promise to make everything happen for her. But that's not who they are.

-No, I go now.

-I'll drive you.

-No, I'll walk.

-Then I'll walk you home.

-No, I go alone. Just to make things straight, we are not a thing, this doesn't mean anything and I'm fucking capable to go home alone.

He has trouble to not let to much of his conflicting emotions, anger, hurt, annoyance, grief, to be heard when he answers. 

It's not a surprise. He knew and she knew, that the night would exactly end like this, but still he wishes it could be different.

-Fuck, Carrie, and I won't allow a woman to walk through half of the town including some more than shady areas at the middle of the night. So don't flatter yourself, I wouldn't allow that to any woman.

She looks at him and her smile is scornful and derisive. Whatever it was, until just minutes ago, on his bed, it's gone. And he gets it, that's the only way how she can cope. After one extreme, she needs the other extreme to find her equilibrium again.

-Always a fucking gentleman, uhm? But I'm a big girl, I don't need that.

She slips back into her clothes and is about to scurry out of the front door when he jumps into his jeans, grabs a shirt form one of the clothes hangers and slips into his boots.

-Well, then, you don't have to talk to me, but I'll follow you anyway. You just blackmailed Javadi, you shouldn't be running around alone. And yep, I'll take a gun and you should have one too. 

With that, he grabs into the nightstand's drawer and throws a Glock towards her, followed by a hoodie. The nights are still cold and she has just her running shirt.

She catches it, pulls the hoodie over her head, turns around and leaves the appartment and he can't see the smile her mouth forms against her will.

It is a mere 90 minutes walk at a good clip and although she never turns around and can't hear him she knows he is there, all the way. She wonders if it's always going to be like this, she putting herself out there, and he somewhere in the shadows having her back.

He does not make himself seen when she arrives at her front door but when she opens the door she turns her head back towards the pavement, certain he must be somewhere close.

-It's no fucking black ops mission. Come in if you want a shower or a coffee, you won't make it back home and to work in time, I give you a lift.

She leaves the door ajar and he follows her after about 30 seconds.

She's in the kitchen, preparing the coffee machine.

-Bathrooms over there, towels are at the shelf.

When he comes back to the kitchen after a long shower, trying to muster the strength for what's ahead of him, she apparently has been having a shower as well, upstairs. He has noticed the lack of any shampoo and whatever other stuff she might use in the small downstairs bathroom. She wears one of her usual pant suits, her hair is still damp and she pushes a cup of hot coffee over the kitchen counter towards him. On the counter he finds a bowl with granola and freshly cut apple and banana slices, milk already poured over, spoon neatly placed next to it. It's that tiny detail that makes it even harder.

-You want some milk foam too?

She's asking while she's pouring some in her cup.

-I thought, you drink black?

-At work. Would be quite a sight, me frothing milk in the office. Nobody would ever follow my orders again. So no, this is just at home, at good days.

At least she's giving him that. 

And she smiles at him while talking. He tries to do the same, for her. 

Neither of them speaks for a while, they munch breakfast in an odd companionable silence. This can go several ways now but breakfast and that he is still tolerated to be here kind of indicates very clearly that he still is allowed to exist in her universe.

She's always been brave so it's no surprise to him when she talks first.

-So...a friend?

For once, her face is completely open. She looks a lot younger then. This is much better as the This can never happen again-talk he had hoped to avoid.

-A friend. Yes.

She can't read his smile. Or she doesn't want to. She sees an emotion flickering in his eyes, betraying the light smile of his mouth, which never reaches the eyes. But then the moment is gone, and she is relieved it's gone.

It's day one of finding the CIA bomber, day one of trying to save Brody and make him come home. 

Some days later he shots her and finds out she is 9 weeks pregnant. So it can't be his. He wonders why this makes him feel sad. 

They never mention that night again. Not until years later. But from time to time she finds a Cappuccino from stealthy Starbucks on her desk, when she arrives in the morning, usually hidden behind a stash of paper folders she needs to go through. Even here, the baristas do that annoying write-your-name-on-the-papercup-thing. 

Her cappuccino is always marked with a Q. Sometimes, he adds a granola bar.

She never returns the hoodie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, am I sad now...
> 
> Thanks to everybody here and on LJ who has been supporting this. Your comments are always appreciated. Hugs.


End file.
